


Lost and Found

by Savageseraph



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Break Up, Choices, Community: wordsontongue, Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Memories, Photography, Road Trips, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-24
Updated: 2009-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you can find what you're looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** [](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/)**caras_galadhon**
> 
> Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/wordsontongue/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/wordsontongue/)**wordsontongue**'s 2009 drabble/ficlet exchange. The prompts were "regret," "same stamp on every morning," and a photograph of a lighthouse.

"Fucking Christ." Sean glared at a box of clothes that tumbled off the tops of several other boxes of God-only-knows-what and spilled half its contents onto the attic floor. All he wanted to do was find one bloody fleece jacket. One jacket. Was that too much to ask? Kneeling down, he righted the box, started shoving sweaters back into it. No matter how carefully you packed things up to put them away, digging them back out again was always a bugger. If you managed to find them at all.

After jamming two nearly identical green sweaters back into the box, Sean paused as his fingers touched what was underneath them. The t-shirt, worn through in spots, was the moody blue of the ocean before a storm, and Sean didn't know how it got into the box of sweaters any more than he knew where to find his fleece. His fingers tightened around it as he picked it up. Overdue for a date with the dumpster. He never understood why that was Viggo's preferred fashion statement.

Sean's raised his arm as he intended to throw the shirt across the room, to get it as far away from him as possible, but as the cloth neared his face, he paused. He swore it still smelled like pine sap and the sea. Like Viggo. His eyes closed as he groaned. Sometimes people packed things away so that they wouldn't find them again.

When Viggo suggested the road trip to Oregon years ago, Sean didn't answer until the hints became a direct question. The prospect of spending days gripping the armrest in the car and pressing down on the floor and the brake pedal that didn't exist on his side as Viggo breezed down freeways as if they were racetracks sent a jolt of anxiety through him. Then, assuming they made it to their destination alive, he'd get to watch Viggo watch everything, including him, through the lens of his camera. Just thinking about it had made Sean feel deeply weary. He knew they needed a change of pace, a break in a chain of days that each started with the same stamp on every morning, the same seal on every night, but he also knew that he was thinking of a bigger change, a more permanent one. A change that didn't include Viggo. Sean hadn't said that, of course. He'd forced a smile and agreed.

As trips go, it wasn't as bad as Sean feared. Although Viggo wore the t-shirt almost the entire time they were gone, he didn't insist on camping, and his driving was reasonably sane as long as Sean didn't pay too much attention to it. He let Viggo rush about like a puppy off the leash snapping pictures and simply savored the rocky shorelines, the quiet of the pine forests, the crisp air fresh with the scent of the waves. They each left the other to his own enjoyment, Sean simply experiencing while Viggo was busy capturing.

On one clear day, they stopped at a lighthouse. Sean sat on a wrought iron bench near the edge of the cliffs and watched as Viggo worked for the perfect picture of the whitewashed buildings. He sighed softly as Viggo leaned forward, ass framed by his faded jeans, and Sean's fingers curled into loose fists as he imagined cupping Viggo's cheeks, running his thumbs along the seam between them. The only way it would be better is if Viggo was naked, if Sean's touch parted his cheeks so that he could lean in and fuck him with his tongue. As his own jeans grew tight, Sean cleared his throat, looked away. The sea was rough, choppy, and he wondered if Viggo was the light that would guide him home or the rocks he'd shatter on just before he could reach the shore. He wondered which one he wanted more.

Sean gripped the shirt more tightly. He'd given Viggo that trip as a gift, given it to him without telling him that he planned on leaving after it. He was waiting until work drew him away, gave him an excuse to drift out of Viggo's life. Later, when Viggo called him to ask when he'd be coming back, he'd let him know he wasn't. Sean straightened, shook his head as he carded fingers through his hair. This wasn't helping him find his fucking fleece. When arms slipped around Sean's waist, he tensed.

"You've been up here a long time." Viggo's breath was a soft, familiar tickle against the back of his neck. When Sean raised a hand to Viggo's, Viggo made a soft sound, tugged at the shirt, trying to get it away from Sean. "I... I didn't want to get rid of it."

Sean flushed, closed his eyes as he let the shirt go so Viggo could squirrel it away somewhere else. He'd never told Viggo he was thinking of leaving him back then. Now, he couldn't imagine a life without him.

"So have you found what you were looking for?"

Maybe this was another gift. It certainly felt like one every morning he woke next to Viggo's warmth. Sean relaxed against Viggo and smiled. "I found that years ago, love."


End file.
